Robin
by ObsessiveFanNumber1
Summary: 'Robin John Blake' wasn't always his name. Before everything, it was Richard Grayson. Follow the story of the original Boy Wonder: his falls, his decisions, his reasons for changing his name the way he did—all without Bruce Wayne or the Batman. Spoilers for TDKR. T for safety. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Robin**

**Summary: 'Robin John Blake' wasn't always his name. Before everything, it was Richard Grayson. Follow the story of the original Boy Wonder: his falls, his decisions, his reasons for changing his name the way he did—all without Bruce Wayne or the Batman. Spoilers for TDKR. T for safety.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or anything in the canon series/movies. Trust me, I wish.**

**A/N: Okay, who all squealed when they called John Blake "Robin" at the end? *raises hand and smiles* I irritated my sister so much with that. ;D Anyway, that got me thinking about Dick (because I adore Dick), and I started writing this! There will be flashbacks later to explain more, but for now, I hope you enjoy!**

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Fifteen-year-old Richard Grayson was normally willing to go along with what he was told. There were certain issues that people encountered when they didn't realize how strong-willed he could be, like his refusal to stay in any foster home for more than a week, but overall, he was obedient. Reasonable enough to get his way through wit and stubbornness instead of force if he felt his way was a good point, which admittedly was ninety-nine percent of the time. Down-to-earth, mentally and physically for the past year and a half. Smart enough to pick his fights and strong enough to win the brawls he did get involved in. Yet he always had a smile and was an expert at deflecting the topic when someone tried to ask about the gleam in his eyes behind it.

"This is ridiculous, Grayson." The owner/"manager" of the orphanage in Blüdhaven, Mr. Keystone, watched him incredulously out of squinty tan eyes. He was a slightly-overweight man in his early-forties with dark brown hair, the short crop doing nothing to hide the beginnings of lighter streaks. He wasn't really a bad man, but running anything in Blüdhaven meant being tough, and he couldn't turn that attitude on and off at will.

"So I've heard," Dick said, not in the mood. Pushing his black hair back, he turned to face Mr. Keystone. The startling shade of blue that his eyes were never failed to hide the gleam that he'd picked up from a fellow orphan who he'd known and understood better than anyone. "Which part are you saying that about now?"

"All of it!" Mr. Keystone spread his hands. "Changing your name, for one thing. You're fifteen years old!"

"Sorry I'm tired of being pestered about my life before this place. Moving to Gotham, there's several things," Dick said, turning back to his bag. "Technically, I'm 'transferring orphanages', meaning I'm moving to the St. Swithin's Boys' Home so I'm out of everyone's hair here. I practically live there anyways, since that's where all the foster homes are and I visit for a week all the time. Between the fact that my parents were murdered here and two months ago…" There he fell silent for a moment. Then he shook his head, shaking off bad memories. "I've had my fill of Blüdhaven. Besides, staying here would make the new name idea pointless. Here I'm Dick Grayson no matter what I do, but nobody knows me over in Gotham."

"The Flying Graysons were internationally famous," Mr. Keystone said. "You're recognizable."

"I've changed in the past two years," Dick insisted. "Even in the past fourteen months." And it was true. When his parents were alive, the gleam in his eyes hadn't existed. During the months after their death that he'd stayed with the circus, a new weight had filled them, but a fire had lit them, too, and he'd still looked like a kid. Since moving to Blüdhaven, the gleam had appeared, and he'd grown up. "Out there with a new name, I get to decide myself instead of my reputation announcing who I am. That's what I want from Gotham." Dick picked up the rolled-up-and-taped poster that was sitting on his bed. He smiled at it before putting it in his bag, careful not to let it fold when he zipped the backpack shut. Then he pulled it onto his right shoulder, sighing when he looked at Mr. Keystone. "I'm supposed to be there at ten-fifteen. Gotham is expecting me any time before noon. I can walk, but a ride would be nice. More convenient."

"I'll get my car ready," Mr. Keystone said quietly, eyes down. Feeling a little bad, Dick put a hand on his shoulder. Despite how tough he was, Mr. Keystone did his best for the orphans here. Blüdhaven was the problem, not him.

"As awful as this hole-in-the-ground Gotham neighbor gets, you still took me in so I could stay here to try and find Zucco," the teen said softly, meeting his eyes. "I'm not about to forget the past fourteen months. I'm not leaving because of anything you've done. Staying here is going to keep me stuck in the past, and I can't keep living that way. I have to move on."

"You're still a minor by law," Mr. Keystone protested. "You shouldn't be doing this on your own. Moving? Changing your name? Most adults go through their whole lives with the name they were born with. Plenty of people only move once, when they move out when they become adults. You're fifteen years old, Grayson. You shouldn't be going through with this."

"It's not like I'm moving to live on my own. I'm 'transferring orphanages'," Dick said in a soothing tone. He'd grown used to making this point in the past month-and-a-half, when they'd started working on the legal stuff. "Besides, you and I both know that age is the only reason anyone here is a minor. We've been through more to make us grow up more than half of those Gotham upper-classmen." Venom filled the last two words.

"By law," Mr. Keystone repeated insistently. Walking over to the window, Dick rolled his eyes, opened it, and near-glared at Mr. Keystone over his shoulder.

"I'm not deaf. I heard you." He slid halfway out the window easily, refusing to let himself tighten his grip on the windowsill. "Walk it is. See ya." Then he let go, letting himself drop. Instinct took over, and he flipped in mid-air, landing on one hand and pushing himself into the air again to somersault before landing on his feet with a natural blend of grace and balance. He turned to see Mr. Keystone's head and shaking fist out the window and hear the man shouting at him. Smirk growing, he bowed with the flourish of a born performer and waved to his imaginary crowd. "Thank you for attending the final performance of the last surviving Flying Grayson!" he yelled and ran off, snickering at the furious expression on Keystone's face. Oh, sure, the guy tried, but with how harshly he was forced to treat them sometimes, it was so worth everything to see that. Forced or not, Keystone could still be a complete jerk to the orphans, and leaving him furious was sweet payback. "Perfect!" he shouted aloud, fist-pumping, running, and flipping again. Blake would've loved it.

Several blocks later, he was slowing down. The reason was nowhere near exhaustion. Being raised as a circus acrobat meant intense training for the first thirteen years of his life, even for him despite literally being born for it, and he could still go for hours without getting too tired. He was wondering if the same could be said for the two guys in their twenties following him.

"Nothing in the backpack. Nothing in my pockets. My hands are open, so you can see I don't have anything there." His voice was light, like he was chatting about the weather. "Fact is, I've got nothing worth anything. Might as well move on."

"Yeah?" the first guy said. He was huge, serious muscle bulging from his arms, and he was wearing a baseball cap for the Gotham Goliaths baseball team. "Might as well prove it."

"Love to," Dick said calmly, "but I've got somewhere to be in ten minutes, and you know what they say. The early bird gets the best of what he wants."

"Too bad you ain't the early bird, boy," the guy with the piece of pipe said menacingly, stepping forward. He had more of the lean muscle, a lithe, cat-like build. Dick rolled his eyes.

"Who am I supposed to be more afraid of here? Figured I'd ask so I don't mess up my part or anything. Pied Piper with his pipe of death or David-Hater 'cause he's scarier-looking?"

"Pied Piper? The heck is that supposed to mean?" the guy with the pipe said incredulously, bewildered.

"You know, the Pied Piper," Dick said, crossing his arms when they stared blankly at him. "Plays his pipe and everyone follows? You haven't heard of him? Hey, you've got the wrong kind of pipe, but I've gotta call you something."

"Where in the world would you possibly get David-Hater?" the guy in the baseball cap demanded, his hand clenching into a fist.

"David and Goliath? Never heard that one, either?" Dick shook his head, amazed. "Deprived morons." David-Hater growled and lunged at him, but he dodged easily, flipping backwards when David-Hater swung a punch. "Well, Goliath was a big ugly creep, just like you, who was scaring everybody off, which you could use some work on. David was a kid who wasn't afraid of him, like how I'm not scared of you at all. He put pebbles in his slingshot and killed Goliath by adding an extra rock to the center of the ugly dope's forehead." Dick smirked when David-Hater hesitated. "Since you're obviously a Goliath fan," he said, pointing at the baseball cap, "it would make sense for you to be a David-Hater kind of guy."

"Punk! Think you can take both of us on your own?" Pied Piper ran at him, swinging the pipe like a sword. Dick blocked it with his forearm, whistling innocently as he tripped Pied Piper, sending him face-first into the ground. Crouching down next to the moaning mugger, the fifteen-year-old smirked. He took the pipe so he couldn't get unexpectedly whacked with it.

Spinning it slowly in his right hand, Dick said, "Yeah, actually, I think I—whoa!"

David-Hater had taken advantage of Pied Piper's fall and tackled Dick from behind, catching him off-guard to smash him into the ground. "Then think again!" he yelled, picking the teenager up and slamming his back into the wall. Dick barely bit his tongue in time to keep from crying out in pain, especially when he was thrown into the ground again.

"_Run, and they never stop chasing you, but they wonder how you broke free,"_ Blake had said. _"Scream, and they never give you the chance to stop getting punched. You won't stand a chance of getting away. It's better to be chased than bloodied."_

_Wonderful advice, Blake,_ Dick thought sarcastically, coughing. _I'm not getting that chance for free anyway._ "Goliath's your idol, I get it," he managed through coughs, still trying to get his breath back. "Geez. Come on, do you have to take it so far as to weigh as much as he did?" He couldn't silence a groan when he got lifted up and forced into the wall again, a huge hand pinning him there by his left shoulder. _Of all the days to run into muggers…you wanted to give me a good-bye present, Blüdhaven, a cookie would've been enough._ Dick forced himself to meet David-Hater's eyes and smirk. "That all you've got?" he said cockily, breathing heavily.

He regretted it when David-Hater slugged him in the face. Stifling a gasp of pain, he struggled against David-Hater's grasp, but a punch in the stomach was enough to knock the wind out of him again. "Not so tough now, kid," David-Hater said, smug as he admired the black eye he'd given Dick.

"Just—getting—started." Dang it, he could hardly breathe and speak at the same time. Anger was a familiar feeling, and while most people would see it as a something that would cloud a person's judgment, he chose to think of it as a helpful adrenaline rush. Tightening his grip, he swung his right hand blindly, grateful he hadn't dropped the pipe. The side of his fist hit David-Hater's shoulder, but he twisted his wrist to slam the pipe into David-Hater's back. It was a bit high, hitting right below his neck, and Dick could hear a quiet snap before he was released and David-Hater slumped. Covering his swelled-shut left eye, Dick was on his knees and leaning on his free hand, coughing and struggling not to gasp for breath. After a few seconds, he crawled over to David-Hater and pressed two fingers against his wrist.

Pulse. Pulse meant breathing. Breathing meant living. Living meant pulse. Thank God. Leaving a murder in his wake was not a good way to leave anywhere, even Blüdhaven.

Pied Piper was gone. Fair enough. He shouldn't have tried to mug Dick in the first place. _Thanks again, Blake, for showing me how to stay alive out here alone._

He bowed to the unconscious David-Hater. "Thanks for the good-bye wishes, Blüdhaven." Then Richard Grayson pulled his backpack tighter against his back and walked away.

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**A/N: So what do you think so far? I know I'm altering Dick's past a little, but as we all know, Bruce Wayne took him in after his parents were killed in the comics. Obviously, that did not happen in the movie canon. So I have to change things to make it work. More explaining will come next chapter and a character who should be familiar to all of the comic fans out there *winks and laughs* so stay tuned, 'kay? Reviews will definitely make me update faster~ *smiles* Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay for everybody inspiring me! :) Special thanks to Arya Daeriel, JohnBlakeLover, Juliet Kavanagh, Sappho's Cat, and talk-ape for reviewing! *happily hands out cookies* I adore all of you~ Which is why I'm updating so fast, actually. Normally I'm a VERY slow updater. But reviews and inspiration made me decide to upload chapter two soon.**

***clears throat* So I promised a familiar face and more explanation in this chapter and a familiar face and more explanation there will be! :) I do not own anything except for the original aspects of this story (meaning Dick's past, sorta, and original characters). Now onto the chapter! Enjoy~**

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"So…Robin Blake, huh?" One of the younger kids came over to sit next to him. The boy had red hair that was purposely messed up and falling just past his eyebrows. His emerald-green eyes had the edge that every orphan's had, but there was an extra sharpness to them, like he was used to living on the sharp point of the blade. It didn't seem like he was over there out of any misguided attempt at welcome. More like he seemed to sense a fellow loner and decided that he would rather be around someone else who wasn't going to force conversation if he had to be around another person at all.

"Call me John. That's my middle name." The one part of his name he hadn't changed. When it came to it, he couldn't change everything. He couldn't abandon all of his past. "Heck, it's the only part of my old life that I've kept."

"Your old life? Why would you only keep your middle name?" the boy asked. _How old is he? Ten? Maybe eleven, tops?_ It didn't seem right that someone so young should be in this place.

"Because I was sort of famous. That's not what I want anymore." Since arriving at the boys' home, he'd been quiet, staying off to the side. He was still mentally adjusting to the changes. He was hardly sure he would answer with his new name if asked. "It's only been Robin Blake for a few hours, actually. I got it legally changed this morning."

The kid looked at him. "Why Robin Blake then?"

"Huh?"

"If you changed your name yourself, then you must've had a reason behind the name. Why 'Robin Blake' of all the first-last name combos out there?"

He closed his eyes. "Robin's an old nickname. My mom started it when I was eight."

"How old are you now?"

"Fifteen. Seven years or not, I'm not willing to let everything go." The kid looked at him questioningly, and he gave a small smile. "I had that nickname for five and a half years. Then…well, it's obvious."

The boy nodded. "What about Blake?"

"…it was the first name of my best friend. In Blüdhaven, at the orphanage there that I was staying at."

"Was?"

"…He got shot two months ago. Crossfire in a Gotham-Blüdhaven gang war. Could shake a lot of injuries, but three bullets to the head and several more to the chest…bit harder to bounce back from. He's dead."

Putting a hand on his arm, the boy muttered, "Sorry."

"Don't be. Not your fault." Numbly, he shook his head. "Not anyone's fault. Except for that crime lord here—Black Mask. His crew shot him." Wanting to change the subject, he glanced at the kid, nudging him. "What about you? What's your name?"

"It's Jason," the redhead said, leaning back on the folding chair. "Jason Todd."

"Nice to meet you, Jay." He grasped Jason's hand, shaking it once. "Well, you already know this better than I do right now, but my name's John Blake." Thinking of himself that way was going to take some getting used to, but he would. Eventually, he'd get the hang of it. Glancing at Jason, he added, "Tour or not, I still have no clue where my room is."

"That's 'cause we decided what room belonged to the new guy, not the priests." Jason hopped to his feet. "You can drop your backpack there before dinner. Come on, I'll show you where your room is, since you're doing a good job of intimidating everybody else off." A smirk crossed his face at that.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," he replied, following Jason. The redhead grinned at him, eyes glowing at finding an ally.

"A lot of bargaining goes around when somebody new shows up," he explained, leading the older teen upstairs. "Most of the guys offer out each other's rooms so they can try and buy the newbie's loyalty in fights."

"Most?"

"Some of 'em volunteer their rooms for other reasons. A few of us don't care as long as nobody suggests us."

"Your category, I'm assuming."

"They're all idiots. Why should I give up my room for a rookie to follow me around?" Jason said bluntly. Blue eyes slid around the hallway before a half-grin slipped onto his face and he shrugged innocently. "Showing you which room you get is different," Jason said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not giving up mine, and nobody's dumb enough to say I should."

"Nobody yet," he corrected slyly, the half-grin becoming a cocky smirk.

"Try it and you're a smear on the ground, Blake," Jason said without any hesitation.

He stopped. That wasn't—no, that _was_ his name now. Last name, but still his legal name. _Looks like I need more time to adjust to it,_ he thought with a mental sigh. "We'll see, kid."

"Don't call me 'kid'."

"Why not? You're nine or ten."

"Eleven in a month. So what? The 'upper-classmen' are kids. They get handed everything on a tray with a silver spoon so they don't hurt themselves with a fork or knife. I've gone for weeks where I only ate because I had a switchblade to threaten my way into getting food for free without the cops chasing me out. Living in the Narrows means grow up or die by your choice of going down in a fight or starving." Jason met his eyes coldly. "I'm not a kid."

"Fair enough," he said quietly. Sympathy for the kid filled him. At least he'd had until he was thirteen. Jason didn't have _any_ chance. _Blüdhaven is the bad side of town, but Gotham isn't exactly Beverly Hills, either._

"This one." Jason pulled open one of the doors. "Got lucky. Bargaining was good this time around. I mean, it's not perfect, but it's one of the better rooms."

He shrugged, thinking to himself that it was still the biggest room he'd ever had, even if there wasn't much. Their trailer with the circus had given him the smallest room, and while he'd stayed there for another ten months afterwards waiting to return to Blüdhaven again, moving into his parents' room (which wasn't a whole lot bigger anyways) hadn't felt right after their deaths. At the Blüdhaven orphanage, everyone got a small room and shared with another person. This room wasn't huge, but it felt almost…too big. Necessities were there: bed, dresser, et cetera. Honestly, though, it was because it had a window and it was on the second floor that he decided to give the larger room a chance. "Hey, Jason?" he said, walking over and setting his backpack on the bed. "Think there's room for one more in your category?"

"Good luck," Jason said doubtfully. "You have to scare them into leaving you out of it. Some of them take a lot to frighten. Even more to impress."

"Impress how so?"

"As in 'okay, we'll buzz off when you say so'." Pausing, Jason considered. "It helps if you can intimidate them into respecting you. Or at least into thinking you can beat them off the planet."

Opening the backpack, he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." Then his eyes fell on the rolled-up poster. Fury lit like kindling in his eyes, and he swore, yanking it out, untaping it, and carefully laying it out.

"What?" Curious, Jason looked over at him.

"They creased it! Stupid…David-Hater slammed you into the wall, idiot! Of course that pressed it harder and it folded!" He was ranting at himself, steaming over the damage. Jason stared at him in obvious surprise and fascination.

"It's just a poster."

"No," he said in a strained voice, the knuckles of his left fist going white, "it's not." He unfurled it all the way, careful to be gentle with it. A pang zipped through his chest at the poster, the same way it had every time in the past year-and-a-half that he saw a poster for The Flying Graysons. "Trust me, Jay. It's not 'just a poster'. Even when I convince myself entirely of my new name, it'll never be 'just a poster'," he said as he tried to smooth out the fold lines.

"…You're Richard Grayson." Shock filled Jason's voice.

"Last thing you expected?"

"Well…kinda, yeah."

"Good. That means my reputation and birth name won't define everything about me here." He was still focused on smoothing out the poster.

"The news said you stayed with the circus, though."

"That's because I did for ten months. Tried to keep up the trapeze act on my own, but after four weeks, it wasn't working." He gave a small sigh. "Family acts can't go solo in an instant. So I helped out with miscellaneous stuff, blended into the background for a while." Jason's eyebrows rose.

"'Circus' and 'blend' don't really mix."

"Background of the circus world, smart aleck. Not necessarily the regular world."

"The world's greatest living acrobat became nameless?"

He grinned. "You'd be surprised how different clowns look without the make-up. Easy to become unrecognizable." Then he paused, thinking about it. "Noticeable, but still unrecognizable."

"And you quit in Blüdhaven because that's where they died?" Jason said softly, observing more than asking.

"Where Zucco killed them." Tensely, he nodded. "I was there trying to find him." Frustration growing thanks to both the crease lines and his failure to get anything on Zucco, he swore again, shoving his backpack off the bed.

"Watch it. They'll wash your mouth with soap in this place," Jason warned, earning a glance. "Seen it. Done it. Wouldn't recommend." As if to emphasize the point, the redhead exaggerated several hacking coughs, making him smile.

"What about you?" he asked, finally giving up on the creases. He would deal with that later. "You know my background now, but I don't know anything about yours." A loud bell went off, startling him, and Jason grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Dickybird. Let's see if you can make it through dinner. Then we'll talk backstories."

"_What_?"

Jason smirked, tugging him along. "Survive dinner, and we'll talk backstories. What's confusing about that?" he said, playing dumb on purpose.

"'Dickybird'?" He stared at Jason, too confused to be angry. Jason's smirk grew.

"'Robin' was your mom's nickname for you, right? A nickname like that will get you pounded into the ground here—"

"And 'Dickybird' isn't going to make them try at all."

"—plus I'm guessing it's not something you want to have thrown around by people who don't know. The bird idea works," Jason said, his smirk becoming evil, "so I decided to come up with my own. What, Dickybird, you don't like it?"

He stared incredulously at the ten-year-old. "…You won't quit no matter what I say, will you."

"Nope." Jason went back to pulling him downstairs.

"Call me that in front of another living soul, and we'll so who's a smear on the ground, Jaybird," he said. Jason stopped walking, glaring daggers at him. Putting on an innocent expression to hide his smirk, he tilted his head. "What's wrong?"

"You think you're so hilarious, don't you?" Jason rolled his eyes.

"The bird idea works," he said innocently, "so I decided to come up with my own. What, Jaybird, you don't like it?"

"Quit calling me 'Jaybird'!" Jason glared at him, making him snicker under his breath.

"It was your idea, though!" he protested, trying not to laugh. Jason swore at him and kept pulling him along.

"Glad to know you'll survive the supervised part of dinner where everybody's limited to verbal jabs."

"You know it, Jaybird," he said with a confident smile.

"Save your comebacks for them, and shut it, Dickybird."

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**A/N: JAYBIRD! :) I love Jaybird~ Not quite as much as Dickybird, but almost. ;P I went to see "The Dark Knight Rises" again (for the third time) yesterday with a friend who hadn't seen it yet, and every time it showed Blake, I was covering my mouth and whisper-screaming, "DICKYBIRD!" XD**

**Okay, so now I have an important question for you and a request. Do you want me to write the dinner scene, or should I skip past that? I kinda have ideas for either way, so let me know if you want to see it. Which brings me to my request. See, an incredible way to let me know which way I should do it would be to type in a review in that little box down there for me to get your opinion. ;D Let me know what you think!**

**Now I'm off to get ready for a party for the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. WORLD HARMONY, PEOPLE! xD (And laugh all the way about how much better Dick could do some of the acrobatic stuff. *cackles*) Later!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I. Am. Not. Breathing. From. Shrieking. So. Much.**

**Take a look at the new image cover for this story, and you'll know why. XD**

**Anyways, onto story stuff. Thanks to starfire25, talk-ape, Sappho's cat, 1****st**** fan of yours/fan obsessive ('cause I know you're one person xD), Anonanon-chan, and NightWindAlchemist for reviewing! *hands out cake* I love you all for reviewing! Sorry for taking a little longer on the update with this one, but at least it's not taking a few months! *optimistic* Trying something that I'm not all that used to with this chapter—first-person, Dick's perspective. I admit, I'm doing it for my sake more than anyone's (it's hard only referring to Dickybird as he/him!), even though it's going to be harder for me since I hardly ever write first-person. Be aware: the fourth wall will be broken. That seems to happen every time I write first-person. Let's give this a shot!**

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_Had I been thinking, I would've kept my mouth shut and ignored all of them. But hey, since when have I used common sense for the heck of it? It's much more fun to use my own logic than somebody else's idea of what should be done, you know? Although…I admit, thinking things through a little might've helped._

_Okay, maybe I should back up some…_

"Assuming things go 'normally'," I said to Jason, making air quotes around the word 'normally', "the supervised part would be first? So you know I'll last longer?"

"Something like that," Jason said. "There's usually a few minutes while everyone's getting their food that the priests can't keep an eye on everybody. You might run into trouble there if you keep up the attitude."

Mischievously grinning at him, I innocently asked, "What attitude?" Jaybird rolled his eyes and kept walking. I smirked and followed. Honestly, he didn't need to be worried about me. I was living in Blüdhaven for a while after all. I could take care of myself. 'Course, he wasn't really worried so much as he was curious to see how long I'd last—I'm not an idiot; I could see that—and all he'd done was tell me. Technically, he hadn't said I wouldn't make it through the unsupervised half. Oh sure, he never said I would make it either, but that's pushing a moot point.

Let me just say here—I grew up in the circus. That definitely is far from a normal childhood. I didn't go to school like a regular kid/pre-teen/teen. Oh, sure, I learned all the basic stuff (I think), but I got to do that and then run out and practice acrobatic tricks rather than do homework. After my parents were killed, Haly, the circus ringmaster, kept teaching me all of that stuff and made sure I didn't quit it altogether. Blüdhaven, on the other hand, didn't really bother (and I admit, I wasn't too bummed out about that). The point of all this? I'm not entirely sure how some of the things I'm going to reference are supposed to be normally. Therefore, my description of things might be a little skewed from how they really are or would be or whatever. Just throwing that out there.

The whole set-up was kind of how a school lunchroom is (on TV, anyway). There was something resembling a line-ish…meaning a whole group of guys, from little kids to some guys who looked a bit older than me, were clumped together waiting to get food. A few adults were dishing out the food, but I could see the irritated looks on the older guys' faces especially. They were impatient. Why should the little kids get food first? After all, it's not like there was only about a two minute gap tops between the kids getting food and the teens. Nooo, they couldn't wait that long at all.

Needless to say, I knew right away that there was going to be an issue between me and them.

But I would've kept my mouth shut. I really would've! Until they did something stupid and a fight started…but I wouldn't have started it! Ah, who am I kidding, of course I would've. They were jerks, and I wouldn't have sat around and taken it. I'm lying when I say I wouldn't have made the first move against them. It's better to fight on your own terms. You lay down the ground rules, and you have an automatic advantage. You're in as much control as it's possible to be in. The argument could be made that not having control of everything is part of the thrill, but Blake hammered it into my head (sort of literally) that control in a fight shouldn't be overrated.

"Come on," Jason said, pulling me along with him. I guess it was a ground rule here that the kids got to eat before the teens because he tugged me past the older guys to stand with him. Ahead of them.

Guess they didn't like that. "Hey, Batboy," one of the guys said loudly. He had sand-blonde hair and dark green eyes that had a mocking gleam in them. From how he was standing—hands in his pockets, kinda leaning back on air—and his cocky grin, not to mention the lackeys surrounding him, it was obvious he was the head honcho. He didn't look that much older than me, maybe a few months. Half a year was stretching it. Already, I didn't like him, although I did notice one of Jason's hands twitch a little and his eyes narrow. I wasn't alone in not liking the guy.

"Shut it, Roland," Jason nearly-growled quietly, shooting a quick glare over his shoulder. So the guy's name was Roland? I was thinking about how in the world I could use that for a nickname that he'd hate when I realized he was talking again.

"—show around the newbie, and both of you skip in line?" Roland had a slow, easygoing tone, but it was strictly to irritate us. Everybody knew he was pushing for a fight.

"Something like that, Rol," I said, careful to keep my voice calm. Honestly, at that moment, I should've been more focused on noticing how disadvantaged I'd be in a fight, with how muscled he was and how outnumbered I'd be even if Jason was on my side, especially after this morning. But to be a hundred percent honest, I was just kicking myself over not being able to think of a good nickname. Yeah, that was my biggest concern. "Newbie rights and all, right? I did only get here this morning after all. Or did you want one of your lackeys to taste-test the food for you before you deem it worthy to be eaten by you?"

Roland's eyes narrowed at me. "Picking a fight's a dumb idea, new guy," he said quietly. Ha! Like he wasn't out for a fight this whole time! The moron thought I was the dumb one? Man, sometimes the idiocy of some people… Blake would've had a field day ranting about this guy. "Especially considering the shiner you've got on your eye there."

"This?" I gestured vaguely to my left eye. Speaking of which, that was starting to throb again. Father Ellis, the priest who'd given me a semblance of a tour when I first got there, had offered me some ice, but I didn't take it. What kind of wimp would I look like if I went around all day pressing ice against my left eye? There was no way in the universe that I was doing that. "If you think this is something, you really are pretty sheltered, huh? I've pushed through worse."

"You in the mood to again, pretty boy?" Roland was on the verge of spitting the words. Somehow, this whole exchange had been quiet enough to keep the priests from hearing ever since Jason spoke. Call it an instinct that I guess they had, too. If you argue too loud, somebody hears and intervenes. If it's a fight you want, then keep it quiet. This Roland creep wanted a brawl, and I wasn't about to back down. Like I've said, paying any attention to common sense would mean I would've, but ignoring common sense becomes instinct when you grow up the way I did. After all, according to common sense, learning to walk on a high wire would be an extremely dumb idea. Me, I think it's the smart thing: you learn falling is bad _and_ how to keep your balance. Win-win.

"Maybe, if I thought you could make me. I doubt that one, though." I admit, I wanted a fight, too. Adrenaline was already running through me, and an outlet for how much Roland's attitude was irritating me would've been nice. Slugging him in the face would be a very welcome present, almost enough to make up for Blüdhaven's awful good-bye gift. I was ready to lunge at him myself, knock the smirk off his face. Of course, I'm pretty sure he was thinking the same thing about me. Or something along those lines, anyways. I would've, too…

…if I hadn't gotten kicked in the shin. So much for Jason being on my side in this! He'd been watching us the whole time with a mixture of interest and approval, but he was the one who kicked me in the shin. Sometimes I really hate how easily some people turn on each other. But then Jay hissed, "Watch it," to me, his eyes darting to the priest who was serving the food. Who was also starting to pay attention to us, the look on his face somewhere between concern and ready to step in. So Jaybird had my back after all.

"You want proof, newbie?!" On the other hand, Roland missed the memo that we were about to be caught. He was dumb enough to start to raise his voice, too. I couldn't resist shaking my head and giving him a scolding flick against his forehead, pressing my finger against my lips in a shushing motion.

"Desmond!" the priest said sharply. Roland's last name was Desmond? Maybe I could use that for the nickname issue I was having… Yes, that was my train of thought.

"Whatever," Roland grumbled, an acknowledgement of whatever the priest said that I missed due to trying to think of something to call him. I moved on, getting my food and smirking over my shoulder at Roland, who scowled at me and mouthed 'This isn't over'. I could've been thinking of how he was right as I followed Jaybird to a spot against the wall. I should've been planning on how I was going to deal with Roland when we got around to our fight.

But honestly, the nickname thing was still what was bugging me the most.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter's shorter than the other two…sorry…but that's 'cause it's a two-parter. And 'cause I wanted to update. ;P So some name stuff here. Roland Desmond is the name of the second Blockbuster, who is/was a villain in Blüdhaven in the comics. He's probably a bit OOC and described wrong, but I did my best with what I could find online about him (which wasn't much). I'm not lucky enough to own any comics with Blockbuster in them, but I tried to find out what I could, and I figured the name would be a little tribute. ;) When Robin mentioned Father Ellis, that would be the priest we saw in TDKR; since no name was given for him (trust me, I listened for it the third time), I decided to use the last name of the actor instead. Just throwing that out there~**

**Some more stuff I'd like your input on. Was the third-person writing better, or did you prefer the first-person talking-to-the-audience approach? I actually liked my attempt at first-person this time, but at the same time, third-person is still my gut choice, so I'd like to know what you think. Also, anybody got any nickname ideas for Roland…? *nervous laugh* Drawing a blank on nicknames is something I'm suffering from right now, so I'd appreciate suggestions. I promise you'll get credit~ Now, a great way to answer these questions is to type your answer into the box there and review for me! ;D I would love that very much. ;)**

**Next chapter will be part two of the action here! Until then, enjoy the Olympics and life! (Not necessarily in that order, of course. ;D) See ya later!**


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